Home
by Alexis Martine
Summary: "I've been deluding myself, all these years. I was just trying to make my house my home." "I'm certainly not a house. But if you let me, I'll be your home." **Ginny Weasley has secrets. She's not as perfect as she seems, and equally imperfect Draco Malfoy is going to find that out.** (details inside)


**Disclaimer:** I, in no shape or form, own the Harry Potter series. I don't own anything here. This disclaimer goes for the entire story—nothing is mine.

**Summary:** Ginny Weasley has secrets. She's not as perfect as she seems, and equally imperfect Draco Malfoy is going to find that out. [DG romance]

**Warnings:**** Includes abuse and eating disorders. If these are triggering to you, proceed with caution or not at all. This goes for the whole story. **

**Author's Note:** After reading this chapter, you'll know that some certain characters are going to be extremely out if character. The main two will hopefully not be. Please do not yell at me for Weasley bashing, or making them too OOC. I love the Weasleys—this is just an idea that came to me that I liked. If you don't like it, don't read it. Also, these AN's won't usually be so long, and the chapters won't be so short.

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Prologue

"Ginevra, get up." Molly Weasley absentmindedly prodded her daughter with her wand. "I said, get up! Can't you see I'm cleaning?" Ginny—clad in bunny slippers and two lopsided pigtails—leapt from the couch. After watching the dust magically rise and disappear, she grinned and ran her tongue over the empty slot where her front teeth used to be. Giggling to herself, she spun and landed on the next chair. It was a floppy old green thing that desperately needed to be replaced.

"No, get up! You bothersome girl. Get out of my hair." The frazzled older woman planted her hands on her hips. Her glare could have caused a mountain to run away from her. "No!" She cried again as Ginny tried to slink into the kitchen. "You ate breakfast. You don't need any more food in you, you'll run us into the hole, you will. Honestly," she grumbled, "you'd think a seven year old would have some more common sense. Why can't you be more like Bill? Or Charlier? Or even Percy? Never you mind—just go. Go to your room, don't come down 'til lunch, you hear?"

Ginny nodded. She scrambled—almost tripping over her feet—to get to her room. Her older brothers were at Hogwarts, and the ones that were still too young were at a lunch with their father. She didn't usually get to go to those types of things: only when she was good. She sped up the stairs like a rocket, only pausing to catch her breath once or twice. When her mother wanted her to leave, she needed to leave fast, or she risked a harsh scolding. Suddenly, a smile spread across her face. After closing herself in her room, she pulled something from her pocket. Victorious, she held out a handful of crackers. Her grin only got bigger. She flopped onto her threadbare bed, a hastily shoved one into her mouth. If her mother caught her like that, Ginny didn't know what she'd do.

She pulled a pillow to her chest. It was old and ragged, like the rest of her room. They were poor. It was something even her seven year old mind understood. But they weren't too poor to feed the rest of the family, or to fill in the blanks for Bill's scholarship to go to America for a year, or to get their children what they needed. Except for Ginny.

She figured it was a girl thing. Her mother was tossed around by her father, and Ginny was tossed around by the both of them. Living with seven boys, she didn't have many people to compare to. But since her mother didn't live in a utopia either, she decided it had to be a girl thing.

With a bang, her door swung open. A furious Mrs. Weasley framed the doorway, hands on hips once again. "I thought I—" instantly, her eyes locked on the snack Ginny was furiously trying to hide behind her back. Dangerously quiet, her mother closed in on her. "What is that?"

"Hi Mommy," she said sweetly. She knew of the coming danger, but she didn't know how to stop it.

"Don't you 'Mommy' me!" Her face was already turning red; her hands trembled over her patchwork apron. "You know what you did. You took food, and I specifically told you not to! You're a fool. You're going to starve this family, and then everyone will blame you. You! You hear me? If your grimy little fingers hadn't already been all over them, I'd ask for them back. But no, you had to spoil them. You don't get any more food today. No lunch, no dinner, nothing I'm between. You deserve it, you slimy, creeping, stealing, little—" she never finished her sentence, choosing instead to punctuate with a slap. The noise rang out through the house, following Molly Weasley as she matched out of the room. From the set look in her eyes, anyone could tell that she didn't regret striking her daughter.

Ginny slid off the bed. She'd been silent the whole time, and hadn't even shed a tear. Now, the nasty little things dripped down her face like a deluge. But she didn't make noise; whenever she cried, she cried silently. She pulled her knees up to her chest. Her little fingers traced through the knee-holes in her jeans. Her face stung, but it wasn't the worst thing she'd ever had done to her. Ginny knew that if she were to go into the bathroom and stand on her step-stool, she'd find a glaring red hand mark imprinted on her cheek.

She knew her parents was doing it for her own good. It was to keep her safe, to make her happy. They loved her, and they'd never do anything to hurt her.

Still, Ginny cried.


End file.
